Bucket list

I wrote a few months ago about my husband’s accidental entry into a 100km cycle race. He hadn’t taken part in any similar events in years, and hadn’t done nearly enough training, but signed up after being persuaded by a friend to join in. He was a little nervous in the run-up (frankly, he wasn’t the only one) – but in the end managed to get through it with a perfectly respectable time, and crucially, enjoyed the experience. He has now signed up for another, 50km race in October, and has somehow managed to convince me to join him…

Another family member recently sent me a picture of a camper van on his driveway, with the comment that he had always wanted to buy one, and had finally done so before it was “too late”. I began to wonder, is there something I should be doing before it’s too late? Travelling the world, changing career (no chance!), moving to another country? One of my children is approaching a significant birthday, and told me they had made a list of all the things they want to do before then. The idea of ‘bucket lists’ has never really appealed to me - as it seems like there is a high risk of setting unrealistic goals, then feeling guilty and disappointed if you don’t reach them – but I began to wonder if I should start making one of my own.

I couldn’t help laughing, then, when I heard the content of the list. It included points such as “make cupcakes”, “try a new sport”, “host a dinner party” and “go to the cinema”. He’s already achieved a few of them (making cupcakes was the first one), and I couldn’t help thinking of the lists of chores I sometimes make, when I add things I’ve already done just so I can tick them off and feel a sense of achievement. But this bucket list, he explained, was about creating a push to do fun things he hasn’t otherwise had the time or inclination to do recently, with an emphasis on everything being achievable so as not to create unnecessary feelings of guilt. It sounded like a great idea, and I began to think of some of my own.

Happy accident

“That’ll be €12, please,” said the friendly man at the entrance to the stately home my friend and I were visiting. “Of course,” I said, and rummaged in my pocket for my phone. It wasn’t there, so I opened my bag – but it wasn’t in there either. I must have left it in the car, I thought, and rushed back to check, making my excuses to the man.

But it wasn’t in the car, and with a sinking feeling, I had an image of my phone on charge on the kitchen table at home. We had left that morning for a weekend away, and it was now too late to go back and get it. I would be without my phone, and the wallet contained in its case, for the whole weekend. Thankfully I was with my friend, who happily agreed to pay for everything, and let me know my share of the cost to transfer her at the end. She also sent a message to my family, to let them know they could contact me through her.

I tried to relax as we began a walk around the grounds, but couldn’t shake a feeling of unease. I kept reaching into my pocket, only to find nothing there. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, as I hadn’t been expecting any particular calls or messages, but regardless felt an overwhelming urge to check my phone.

As the weekend wore on, I became slightly more accustomed to the absence, and stopped reaching into my pocket. But it really brought home just how often I check my device. I keep it on vibrate, so I don’t really need to actively check for any missed calls in case of an emergency, and most notifications are messages which I could respond to later in the day.

By deliberate choice I don’t much use social media and have always considered that I have a good approach to distancing myself from my phone. However, the experience made me realise that my habits might have slipped recently. When I finally returned home to find it exactly where I had left it on charge, I checked it, only to find that I hadn’t missed any urgent messages at all. I resolved to have a holiday from my phone more often, and to leave the house without it again every now and then – or at least, if I need it in case of emergency, to leave it alone in my pocket for a while.

Making assumptions

“You’ll be fine!” the woman assures us. “I’ve even taken my mother up there and she’s not as young as she used to be. If even she can do it, you’ll be grand.”

My friend and I look doubtfully at each other. We’re on a day trip to the hills, and have stopped at a café for refreshment before a planned walk up to a viewpoint. The weather has closed in, and dark clouds are threatening rain. We had mentioned our plans to the friendly young woman behind the counter at the café, asking how difficult the route up to the viewpoint is.

“Mum found it a bit tricky at her age, but we got there in the end,” the woman continues brightly, mentioning the age of her mother.

My friend and I look at each other, and it’s all we can do not to burst out laughing. This woman’s mother, who has been described as bordering on decrepitude so far in this conversation, is several years younger than us. We thank the woman and head outside as it begins to rain. We hold a quick discussion – both a little doubtful after what she said, clearly not realising our own ages. But we’re wearing good shoes and waterproofs, and the path is very clearly-defined, so we decide to take our chances and begin the walk. We set out at the same time as a couple in their twenties, and pause to let them go ahead on the narrow path, so we don’t hold them up.

The weather worsens as we climb, and the rain soon turns to snow, blanketing the ground. Thick clouds mean we can no longer see the mountain views around us, but we are reassured by the presence of the young couple ahead – at least if we collapse there’ll be someone to run for help. The climb is steep, and the wind whips into our faces, making it feel as though we’re in a different season from the almost-Springtime and daffodils back home. It’s not particularly comfortable, but it is exhilarating. Suddenly, two figures appear ahead – the couple returning. “We’ve had enough, good luck,” they say as they pass, looking exhausted. My friend and I look at each other. We’re enjoying the exercise, so we continue for a while before turning around.

Back at the café, the young couple are nursing aching feet and cold limbs, thrilled to be back in the warm. “How did you make it up so far?” they ask in awe. As we enjoy hot cups of tea, we reflect on how glad we are that we went up, and how much what you can and can’t do is dependent on your attitude. It’s so easy to limit yourself based on other people’s assumptions, but everyone’s circumstances are different – in this case our fitness, clothing and preparation allowed us to climb the hill with ease, and it had nothing at all to do with age!